Subtle Glow

to convince yourself that we are surrounded by a bunch of phreaks.

If that’s not enough, check out your local monster truck rally. I had the (dis)pleasure of attending one of those charming events recently. Picture, a football stadium, packed with just about every redneck in a 50-mile radius. You might be thinking, Rednecks? In San Diego? How many could there possibly be?

Oh, innocent Internet, you have NO IDEA.

The rest of us were there accommodating requests from our children. The sacrifices we make as parents.

I just can’t grasp the appeal of these things. This is the basic rundown of the events:

• Pile into stadium parking lot, after paying $10 for parking (PARKING! To have my car sit in a designated space that I damn near got in a fist fight with the asshole next to me because he wanted to tailgate in the surrounding FIVE spots).
• Walk 2 miles from parking spot to stadium entrance. (paid $10 for that privilege - did I mention?)
• Stand in line for 40 minutes to pick up tickets from Will Call. That was the “short line” too.
• Walk another 1/2 mile to seat.

By this time I’m thinking, what the hell have I gotten myself into? Then the ‘event’ begins.

• Very large trucks, with very large tires enter stadium, crowd erupts in cheers.
• Trucks park.
• Crowd cheers.
• Much waiting.
• Qualifying round begins.

From there - it was basically two trucks, going in circles, jumping on/over a bunch of cars. Left turn, jump, left turn, repeat. Over and over again. Crowd cheering, until someone nearly rolls or crashes or veers off course - at which point crowd goes completely apeshit. Just when you think it’s over, and the lights in the stadium are dimmed, the big screen lights up with the worst possible news you have seen all night: “INTERMISSION”

This and NASCAR - an equally ridiculous idea - are the makings of and absolute perfect hell. I promise you, you may have to check in with St. Peter on the way through the gates of heaven, but the door to hell is kept by one of two people: An elderly person in a blue vest saying “Welcome to Wal-Mart,” or Jeff Burton. And the road to hell? A series of left turns.

If you expect a certain number of people, to show up at a given place, at a given time every weekday, and to park at that place… you would think somewhere, it would be mentioned to these people that on a certain day - 90% of the available parking would be UNavailable.

You would think.

Chalk this one up as the picture of “really fucking poor planning.”

Somehow, through a series of random twists in conversation, I got on the topic of marriage and future children. And on how I don’t want any more of either. I’ve been married. I’ve been divorced. Please - that was so last decade. And, it is so NOT the new black. Not for me anyway.

What’s the deal with people telling me I’m too young to make certain decisions regarding marriage and family? I’ll be 30 in March. Yes, still young. No, still don’t want to get married again. Or have any more kids. I’ve been through plenty of life experience in the last 30 years. So, why am I always (or very nearly always) met with major resistance when I say I do not want a) any more children or b) to get married again? Seriously, I don’t even want to deal with DATING and all that ‘getting to know you’ bullshit. Honestly I find it excruciating. People hear that and say, “Oh, you’re so young, don’t worry, when the right guy comes along… it’ll happen when you least expect it.”

I know they mean well. How do you calmly explain to someone that my life goal really isn’t heading anywhere near marriage and family? So, I’m not sitting around waiting for life to begin once the perfect match comes along. Sorry to disappoint. *shrug*

I sound defensive, right?

Shit.

Here’s the thing. Ten years ago, I suspected that I did not want to have children. I listened to people tell me I was too young to make that decision. I convinced myself that I did want the whole marriage/family package. My error was not having the child, but rushing to the decision – with the wrong man. I continued convincing myself (despite all signs contrary) that if I hoped hard enough, he would be the right man.

I didn’t listen to myself then – You can bet I am sure as hell listening now.

Today’s Public Service Announcement: Trust people to know what they are talking about when it comes to this stuff. We don’t all live to fulfill the perfect family image, and most of us are really cool with that.

My friend and I were debating the merits of choice vs. addiction. I think most “addictions” are total crap. An excuse for people to continue doing things they know are unhealthy for them (whether physically or otherwise) and yet they still choose to do them. The Friend says there are certain things he avoids because he knows he will like them, and therefore get addicted and shirk other responsibilities and priorities.

I say, “Bullshit.” You *choose* to get off your ass and clean house, or you *choose* to sit on your ass and blog. I mean cruise the internet. Oh, whatever. Shut up.

He retorted (yes, retorted) “Ok, then cancel your internet connection.”

First of all, I should mention that we are no longer friends, simply for him having said something so crass and unforgiveable. Also, because God struck him down with a fiery bolt of lightning for such blasphemy. And I’m not even religious, so go figure.

Secondly, I’m not “addicted” ok?!

And then, in the cruelest of all ironies, I began having internet connectivity problems.

I totally blame him for it. Of course he’s dead and all, being struck by the lightning and everything, so I suppose I should have some respect for the dead. Then again he is my dead ex-friend so, I’m really confused about that part.

Meanwhile, I was like a junkie in need of a fix. I called The Friend (cell phones do work in hell, apparently) in a panic, trying to breathe all steady so he wouldn’t catch on. “Yeah man, this is fucked up! All the lights are green, yet I can’t get to anything. No email, no websites, nothing. I don’t know what to do. I need to get online.”

I am not addicted though. Just… dependent. I keep a lot of information online… so I can get to it no matter where I am. That’s all. See, that is so not an addiction. It’s just, like, a reference. Duh.

For now things seems to be stable. I do have the cable mainlined into JUST the modem, so I guess I go without tv in here for awhile. I would unplug the damn phone too if I knew it would guarantee connectivity. Hey, as long as I’m online, it’s cool. Because I use it as a reference. A lot. That’s the way I *choose* to do things.

1. Last night I dreamed I waxed my lip. I am terrified of waxing my lip. Mostly because you just never know what sort of random hell you will unleash by waxing a new part of your body. Especially one as visible as your face. Red bumps? More noticeable hair growing back? A breakout? No - it’s just not worth the risk. The fuzziness will stay put until menopause, where I’m sure I’ll be ripping it out weekly. hmmm.

2. Through a series of unfortunate events and miscommunications, my boss got the impression that I simply decided not to come in yesterday. Meanwhile I actually had left detailed information with Her Admin. Her Admin is a rather new addition, and she really does try bless her southern heart. But honestly, leaving a message that I took today off is quite different than the message I left which was, I’m out of luck for childcare today, I have no choice but to stay at home with The Kiddo.*

3. Today begins the first of several supposedly stress-filled days at work processing Year End Close. There is, quite literally, a build-up of stress by The Boss in the weeks leading up to YEC. None of which is actually necessary, if you ask me. It’s just work. It gets done. Not that she has to do any of it anyway, really. Not that she would know how if she ever did have to do it.

*Well, actually I totally spaced that The Kiddo had the day off from school, AND that the daycare was closed for the MLK holiday as well. All of which was in the message I left for The Boss with The Admin. None of which got passed along to her. Note to self: bypass The Admin for all communications with The Boss from now on, so as to not end up totally fired. After all, I have a blog for that…

Still have not unpacked any more boxes.

Unfortunately I realized the little badge thingy with of course theeeee most awful, horrible, what-the-fuck-was-I-on-when-they-took-that picture on it, is in a box still yet to be unpacked. I’m hoping it’s in one labeled “Desk” but it’s gotten really annoying asking every day “Can you open the gate with your clicker? I’m an irresponsible ass and haven’t brought my badge. Great. Thank you! Oh, would you mind buzzing me through the door? Super!”

That’s what I’ve had to do. Every. Day. This. Week.

So I suppose at some point I’m going to have to unpack at least THAT box. Of course if I wait until this weekend I can make it even - a whole week of driving up to the gate, looking sympathetically at the guard and making the pointy-clicking gesture at the gate, meanwhile mouthing the words “can you open that for me?” because obviously since I am in the car by myself I can’t actually say it out loud. No, it must be mouthed. I figure it’s because of the simultaneous miming gestures I’m making - it requires the complete mime package. Otherwise they would never understand what it is I’m asking for. I think maybe tomorrow I will paint my face all white and wear black just so they get the full effect when I do that.

Of course, it’s supposed to rain tomorrow and I wouldn’t want the white face paint to splatter on my nice black top.

The Holidays are over.

My holiday break was relatively uneventful. Unless you count the fact that I moved during that week. *Note to self: never EVER move at year end. Never. Again.*

I moved into the most adorable little condo, and I will from here out be known and She Who Pinches Pennies so that one day, just maybe, in a little over a year from now I could buy this sweet little place and will be all my own. Because really, I cannot move again at the end of the year. I just cannot. Ever. Besides - it has a garage!

The Kiddo received many cool things, the top ranking item being a Gameboy Advance SP with a couple of games. And do you know who brought that lovely gift? Santa, you say? Ohhhh ho ho nooo!

That fat dude is so not getting the credit for all the cool gifts anymore. Santa baby - from now on you can bring the socks. hmmmph. I’m getting all the cool points from now on, haha. Because let’s face it - I earned them. And I’ll just leave it at that.

Once Christmas was over, it was full force Phase 1 of packing. Three days of nothing more than getting up, packing box after box, separating out items that should be donated and those not even worthy of donation, then carting said unworthy items out to the dumpster, or hauling the leftover worthy items to Goodwill.

I mention Phase 1 of packing - I’m sure you are familiar with this. It begins with an empty box, and a particular area deemed ‘packable’. As you pack the area, miscellaneous odds and ends that don’t belong are returned to their rightful home to await the day when their area is deemed packable. The packed box is then properly labeled with a room name and a clear indication of the contents. This isn’t so bad, I think to myself. I have a nice glass of wine and pack a box while I admire how organized I am about all of this.

At some point, I reached phase 2… where miscellaneous items could not be returned to their rightful home, as it had already been packed. There I was left with the dilemma, do I pack it in with where it’s no doubt found a home for a year at least, if not more? Or do I find a different - but still more appropriate than it’s current - home for said item.

Toward the end of day 2, I started questioning why in the world I even HAD any of this useless crap and if I could manage without it. The loads to the dumpster tripled. My neighbors started to avoid me, fearing yet another round of “Would you like one of these? I have three. Are you sure you don’t need one? They’re great to have around. Maybe you’ll just take it to try out.” I’ve resorted to promising alchohol to them - “Come in and have a drink. Keep me company while I pack.”

Phase 3 of packing - Who gives a shit anymore, put it in a box, tape it up and if I manage to unpack it between now and the time I realize where the hell it is, then fine. I want the packing to just be OVER. My neighbors have started using alternate access routes to get from their place to the parking lot without going past my house. I am now drinking by mid-afternoon, only now it’s by myself.

In the end it all came together - the boxes were packed, the truck was loaded and unloaded with a minimum of damage to my worldly posessions.

All I can say is that I think I’m in Phase 3 of UNPACKING: Why in the hell did I pack this? And what else could be in those boxes that I actually NEED? How far up a creek will I be 6 months from now if I just toss the rest of these boxes, with all the crap in them??

Anyone want to come over for a drink?